


Drunk Dialling 101: Pissed as a Newt

by QuokkaFoxtrot



Series: Drunk Dialling [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunk Dialing, Drunk Newt, First Meetings, M/M, Too Sober For This Shit Hermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuokkaFoxtrot/pseuds/QuokkaFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Newt wakes Hermann up in the middle of the night, drunk and needing a ride home. </p><p>Only problem? They've never met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Dialling 101: Pissed as a Newt

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt - _accidentally called your number while drunk asking for a ride and you actually came au_ \- from [this](http://xaquaangelx.tumblr.com/post/101800154250/list-of-aus-that-arent-themed-at-all-were) post.

_Beep. Beep Beep. Beep. Beep Beep._

Hermann flails a hand out of bed towards the light and switches it on, groaning as he reaches for his phone vibrating and sounding off on the nightstand. He's sorely tempted to ignore it - switch it off and go back to sleep - but the last time he'd done that, Karla's appendix had burst and she'd spent the night in the hospital alone.

He squints as he looks at the screen - he doesn't recognise the number - and grumpily answers.

"Do you have any idea what time this-"

"TENDOOOOO! Tendooo! Tendo Tendo Tendo! Dude, man, dude, _dude_ , you'll never-"

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong number," Hermann says, pinching the sleep out of his eyes and looking at the clock. Two in the morning. On a _Thursday_. Who gets this outrageously drunk on a _Thursday_?

"Nonono, Tendo, _Tendo_. This isn't- It's not like the last time, man, I sw- I _swear it_. I mean, Tendo _, man_ , I kinda lost my keys... and my phone... and- and someone punched me in my eye- _my eye_ \- and broke my glasses and- and stole my wallet- can you fuckin' _believe_ that? I'm fuckin'... bleeding and shit and I can't get a cab because- like I fuckin' know. They think I'm gonna be starting shit or something. I need a ride, man."

" _You have the wrong number_ ," Hermann grinds out, preparing to hang up the phone when a strangled, anguished yelp gives him pause.

"Please, man, don't do this. I had to _beg_ someone for another quarter so I could call _you_. You gotta come get me, Tendo."

"Once again, this is _not_ 'Tendo'. You have dialled the _wrong number_. You are, I believe the term is, 'shit out of luck'." Hermann says and he would be feeling rather smug were it not for the yawn pushing its way out of his throat.

"What?" The voice on the other end of the line sounds confused. "You mean- You're not just fucking with me? You're really not Tendo?"

"For the last time, _no_. I'm going to hang up now."

" _Please!_ Don't! Don't, I- Shit. _Shit_. Please, I don't have any money and I don't know how to get back to my apartment and Tendo's the only person I know here," the voice is getting strained and reedy and Hermann cannot fathom why he hasn't hung up yet. "I just moved and I... shit. I'm so screwed."

The voice on the other end of the line has gotten small and Hermann's awake enough now that he can distinguish the sounds in the background; a siren in the distance, a shattering of glass, raucous bursts of laughter that start and stop with the closing of a door.

"Can I give you Tendo's number and you can call him? It's kind of like yours but... not."

Hermann scrubs a hand over his face. There's something tugging in his chest that he can't quite put a name to.

"Where are you?" He asks as he pulls back the covers and rolls out of bed; he knows what it's like to be alone in a new town. "I'll come get you."

" _Really?!_ " The voice says incredulously. " _Awesome_. Wait, _no_ , the thing I'm supposed to do... the _thing_... I'm gonna do it." There's the sound of a deep breath being drawn before the voice continues speaking in a confused, slightly questioning tone as though he's not sure he's doing it right. "You really don't have to? I can just... walk until I get my bearings. And sobriety. It's cool? I'm cool? I'm the coolest. I'm so cool I-"

"You've already woken me and told me your sob story. The very least I can do in thanks is come and _berate_ you for it in person," Hermann says sounding only half as annoyed as he intends as he slides his feet into his slippers and reaches for his robe. "Just tell me the name of the bar."

"The Breach. It's on... um... There's a street and it crosses with another street, maybe an avenue or a boulevard, and- and there's a florist on one corner and a tattoo shop on the other and one of the apartments across the street has pink curtains-"

"I know where it is. Please stop giving me descriptions." Hermann rolls his eyes as he pushes himself up and grabs his cane. "What's your name?"

"Newt. I'll be the one-"

"Standing outside The Breach covered in _blood_. I think I'll be able to find you. I'll be there in twenty minutes." Hermann hangs up and shakes his head at himself - going out to pick up a drunken stranger from a bar in the middle of the night? This wasn't like him at all. 

He pauses as he picks up his car keys - he could just not show up; leave the man hanging as payback for waking him up - but then clenches them tightly in his hand and heads out the door. Tightening his robe, he makes his way down to the parking garage. He knows what it's like to be left hanging; admittedly, it was at an airport and in broad daylight, but it's the principal of the thing.

By the time he makes it down to his car, he has a plan: he will pick the man up, berate him soundly, drop him off at his dwelling, and never think of it again. He drapes a blanket over the passenger seat, puts on his driving glasses and starts the car, pulling out slowly to make his way through the dark, mostly deserted streets.

Stopping in front of The Breach he peers out the window at the few people loitering on the sidewalk and sees him - leather jacket and mussed up hair, glasses hanging crookedly off a nose trickling blood down a white button up. He's sitting on a stoop staring down at his hands, and though it's dark, Hermann can see that he's wearing trousers at least one size too small and boots possibly one size too large.

Hermann sneers, wondering what on earth has gotten into himself, and rolls down the window.

"Newt!" He calls sharply, repeating himself when the first does little more than make the man lurch mostly upright and look around blearily. "I did not come out here at this hour of night to be stared at blankly. _Get in the car_."

Newt stumbles over and fumbles with the door, being knocked backwards when it finally opens, before pouring himself into the passenger seat, slouching at an angle that no sober person could comfortably achieve.

"Dude, you actually came," he says as he pulls on the seatbelt and fumbles with the clasp before wrapping it around his wrist and holding his arm down as though the illusion of safety is equal to the reality. "I thought I was going to have to-"

"Do your seatbelt up _properly_. I will not drive anywhere until it is clasped and you are sitting upright," Hermann says tightly, hand gripping the steering wheel in ire. "Honestly, you wake up decent people in the middle of the night, get them out of bed, and-"

"Holy shit, you're _hot_ ," Newt says, arm hanging limply from the tangle of seatbelt as he uses his other to hold his broken glasses up straight to stare at Hermann.

Hermann's diatribe stutters and he tries to forge through it but Newt's obviously not listening to him.

"I should drunk dial people more often if it gets me good Samaritans this good looking. Shit, man, I failed _so hard_ in The Breach - I mean, seriously, I'm off my gourd and covered in blood; _so_ not what I came out for tonight - but I get one little number wrong and _you_ show up. My luck's changing. I'm gonna _like_ this town."

Hermann, flustered, doesn't even know where to begin with Newt's drunken train of thought. He scowls and grabs the seatbelt to begin unwrapping Newt's arm. "You are _drunk_ ," he says when he finally manages to get Newt untangled and secured. "Where do you live?"

"You wanna come back to mine? _Score!_ Best drunk dial ever!" Newt cheers, throwing his arms up in the air before looking Hermann up and down in a way that makes him want to tighten his robe.

"I am going to drop you off and then go _home_ to my _own_ bed and _sleep_ ," Hermann says in a pinched tone and starts the car. "What street?"

"Aww, bummer," Newt says deflating a little before straightening when he sees Hermann's glower. "Um. Hunter? Somewhere in the three-thousands? I'll know it when I see it."

"You wouldn't know your own _hand_ if you saw it right now," Hermann gripes and pulls away from the curb. "What sort of person gets _this_ drunk on a Thursday night? You're some sort of _unemployed bohemian layabout_ , aren't you? Playing bongos to the detriment of all around you with ears while you huff hashish and talk endless bollocks about _existentialism_ and _abstract expressionism_. People like you exist only to be a hindrance to decent hardworking people. Some of us _work_ for a living. Do you realise I have to be _at_ my place of employment at eight in the morning? Eight o'clock. And yet here I am driving your sorry self home so you don't pass out on the sidewalk and become a _trip hazard_. Or worse," Hermann reprimands Newt for five blocks, not giving him any opportunities to cut in or defend himself.

"Dude!" Newt shouts when Hermann pauses for breath. "I don't have class until two-"

"Oh good, a _student_. That makes _all_ the difference in the world," Hermann says with sniff and glances over at Newt; Liberal Arts, if he had to guess - it's extremely unlikely that they'll cross paths again.

"I'm not a- I'm... I'm _new_ in town," Newt continues, ignoring Hermann's disdain. "I thought I'd go out and try to make some _friends_ -"

"And what a rousing success that turned out to be," Hermann says looking over his glasses at Newt. "Have you considered becoming a hermit? I hear the chances of being punched in the face diminish significantly if there's no one around to punch you."

"Ha. Hilarious. You sh-"

"This is Hunter," Hermann says as he turns onto a street and slows down; the area is nicer than he expected. "Let me know when you see your building."

Newt leans forward and peers out the windscreen, focussing intently on trying to work out which one is his. He's still talking, muttering to himself, but it's at a volume Hermann can't quite make out except when he says things like _'huff hashish'? What the fuck,_ and _bongos are fuckin' awesome_.

They drive for three blocks until Newt jerks forward and flails an arm out to point. 

"That's it! The one with the ficuseses in front of it. That's my place! We found it!" Newt cries with a triumphant whoop and Hermann shakes his head, ignoring the little flip in his stomach at the unmasked joy on Newt's face.

"Congratulations. You managed to find your abode with a significant amount of help. You officially have fewer skills than a common domestic cat," Hermann says pursing his lips.

Newt's face falls and he fumbles with the buckle until the seatbelt undoes before turning to open the door. He turns back before he gets out and looks at Hermann with a twist of his lips. "Uh, thanks for the ride, man. You really did me a solid; I dunno what I woulda done if you hadn't come got me."

"The pleasure was all yours. Perhaps in future you can write your friends' number down on a piece of paper before you go out. Or experiment with temperance," Hermann says and waits for Newt to get out of the car.

"Uh, yeah. I... Y'know, I had a pretty shitty night but... not the meeting you part. That wasn't shitty at all. Even with you telling me off and everything," Newt says and Hermann's has to clear his throat and turn away at the sincerity in his face.

"It has been... an experience," he concedes adjusting his grip on the steering wheel uncomfortably. "If you lost your keys, how are you getting into your apartment?"

"Security dude has a master key. He can let me in," Newt shrugs and pulls himself out of the car, holding onto the door to keep himself upright as he closes it and leans in through the window. "Thanks again, man. You really helped me out. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?"

"Doubtful," Hermann says and revs the engine a little. "Drink some water when you get in and perhaps you'll only feel moderately abysmal in the morning. Now, if you'll excuse me - I have to go home and _sleep_." Hermann presses the window button and watches as Newt yelps and flails away as it rises.

"Wait! I don't even know your-" He hears Newt say as the window closes with finality. 

He pauses a moment as Newt slaps his hand against the window and shakes his head before pulling away from the curb and driving away. Nothing good can come of this; he's already compromised himself enough. 

He drives himself home and climbs into bed, staring at the clock as it flips over to three-thirty. It's another half-hour before he sleeps. 

The next day, he's more tyrannical than usual, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't scouring the faces in his lectures and the quad for one lost and hungover Liberal Arts major.

—-

_One Week Later_

Hermann stands in line at the campus coffee shop, staring dourly at the person in front of him as he listens to the conversations around him and inches slowly forward.

" _Sharon told Janelle who told Donna_ -"  
" _-gonna fail, I just know it. Why do I need to know this shit-_ "  
" _-called three dry cleaners, two bodegas, and about twenty-five homes, but I can't find_ him. _I can't have misdialed_ that _badly._ "

Hermann's ears prick at the last and he tries to work out where in the cafe it came from.

" _I mean, I even put up a Missed Connection on Craigslist._ Me: drunk and covered in my own blood. You: annoyed and hot, wearing a robe. You saved me when I called the wrong number and I didn't even get your name."  
" _It's been a week, man. You've gotta let it go_."  
" _But he was_ hot _. I mean, you_ wish _shit going wrong ever went this right for you_."  
" _You were drunk, dude. Chances are he wasn't that hot._ "  
" _You can't know that._ I _can't know that. Until I find him, I'm not gonna kn- Holy shit, that's him. That's him, over there. That's_ him _. He's still hot! How do I look? How do I_ look _?!_ "

Hermann stiffens as he realises he's about to be confronted by the subject of his _supremely_ out of character charitable act. He looks towards the exit, but there are people standing shoulder to shoulder and he won't be able to make a clean getaway. He's surrounded by students and he has a _reputation_ to maintain but he knows it's all going to crumble when he feels a tap on his shoulder.

"Dude, this is _amazing_. I never thought I'd find you again!" Newt says, squeezing past two students to stand between Hermann and the rail and look up at him with a wide grin.

Hermann stares blankly at him, trying to maintain an air of incivility as the people around them begin to whisper. He looks different with fixed glasses, relatively neat hair, and no blood on his face or shirt. The too small trousers were apparently not a one off, though.

"Um. It's me. Newt?" Newt continues, face falling at the lack of recognition. "You came and picked me up last week? It'd be understandable if _I_ didn't remember you - I was so drunk I had a hangover for two _days_ afterward, but you were sober... weren't you?"

" _Of course I was sober_ ," Hermann hisses, bristling at the idea of anyone thinking he would do something as stupid as drive while under the influence. "If I weren't, you'd probably lying in an ally still ridiculously intoxicated and covered in cat feces."

"Um, good point. Good point... Um," Newt says, rubbing his neck as he ducks his head and Hermann can't help but notice the tattoos peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt. "I kind of want to say thanks. You did me a freakin' _huge_ favor and went out of your way for me so, maybe I could buy a drink? Coffee? Something non-alcoholic?"

"I don't fraternise with students," Hermann says, pursing his lips and looking up to see how much longer the line will take before he can leave.

"Oh, I'm not a student," Newt says, shaking his head emphatically. "I'm on loan from MIT; visiting scholar and all that. Working on the synthetic tissue project with Biology."

Hermann raises an eyebrow: not a student and, more importantly, not Liberal Arts. He looks Newt up and down and tightens his grip on his cane.

"Caramel Frappuccino, extra whipped cream," he says and gestures with his chin to the barista waiting to serve.

A smile spreads slowly over Newt's lips as he shakes his head and turns to place theirorder and pay.

"You are full of surprises, man," Newt says as he ushers Hermann over to a freshly vacated table by the window. "Hot grump who orders the sweetest coffee drink imaginable and helps drunk strangers get home under cover of dark. You're like a superhero."

"I'm nothing of the sort," Hermann says, unsure of how to deal with someone flirting this aggressively at him. At the very least, it's obvious enough that he can recognise it for what it is, for that much he's grateful even if he is unsure how to proceed. "It's not something I do regularly, and it's not something I care to repeat."

"Oh," Newt says looking slightly crestfallen. "Not even if we're dating?"

Hermann looks down at his drink, mixing the whipped cream and caramel into the coffee to make it thick and comforting. "You've met me once and now you're talking about _dating_ me? What is it you really want?" 

"Nothing! I just- Well, it's- Actually... Your name? I can keep calling you Hot Grump if you want, but a proper noun's probably easier," Newt says and Hermann tries to clamp down on his urge to blush.

"That's what I don't understand; you consistently designate me as _grumpy_ and _annoyed_ and yet you want to extend our acquaintance. What about those traits makes you want _more_ exposure to them? Are you a masochist?" Hermann asks, genuinely perplexed.

Newt smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the edge as he huffs a small laugh. "Dude, it's not even about that. You bitched me out and berated me - don't get me wrong, I totally deserved it - but then you _helped_ me. It's not just anyone who'd do that. I want to get to know _that_ guy; guys like that are special," he says and cocks his head to the side. "And don't think I didn't miss that you still haven't told me your name."

Hermann takes a moment to process what he's just heard and nods slowly, still slightly perplexed by the logic. "Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, Department of Mathematics," he says and Newt's smile just gets warmer.

"So, Dr. Hermann Gottlieb, Department of Mathematics," Newt says, holding out a hand. "I'm Dr. Newton Geiszler, Department of Biology on loan from MIT. Do you want to have dinner with me?"

Hermann looks at the proffered hand and reaches out to shake it, a small smile playing at the edges of his lips. "I'll pick you up at seven. Be sober."

Newt grins and squeezes Hermann's hand. "I don't think I'll be getting that plastered again for a long time, man."

**Author's Note:**

> I may have started writing a version where Hermann is the one drunk dialling.


End file.
